Spring a gore noise,
Autumn a wet sponge.
When birds in spring
Unloved and un-kissed.
When rain drops in autumn
Wets no shoulders.
Spring, a death lament
When moths do move,
But with winds - with no song.
Autumn, a funeral drum,
When no rain but dreams plummet,
Spattering over the blaze.
Cuckoo's cry or petrichor,
When unloved is broken harp or roasted almond.
But, spring is not the death lament,
For moths who buzz no more,
May hope to fill lips with violin scream.
But, spring is not the funeral drum,
For petrichor may join the lavender,
Wet together may fill with life.
Spring and winter, two unsung soul.